It was only going to be one chapter because we were only going to have that much time to spare, for the reading of books and cuddling together. One chapter of a good story that we'd have to take in small chunks.
One more, we decided. Another one to follow and continue our journey into someone else's story, another adventure that was becoming our own, and another chunk of spare time.

We find the time and one chapter becomes two or three and we are lost.

Lost in a life well lived.

Lost in a story well-told.

It never really matters how much time we *think* we have, because a good story is always being told and those who are too busy to hear it are the only ones truly lost.

No time for stories?

No time for living, then. If your day is too full of stories-too-busy and life-too-fast to slow down, how will you ever know anything more? How will you ever live larger than your years can allow?